Chapter 11: "This is About Trust, You Know"

The pink Salon hummed with excitement, as often on a Saturday night. There were people dancing to soft music and the bar was well attended. Couples holding hands walked up the stairs to find some privacy; or walked down with a smile on their faces.

Angique saw a group of girls sit around a few tables at the far side of the room. The floor around them was strewn with shopping bags of all the fashionable brands. Angique saw Aura stand at the centre of the circle, wrapping a tiny top around her chest. It better stretch a lot, she mused evilly. The group oh'd and ah'd, touching the fabric as the giggling blonde modeled it for them.

Their happiness irritated Angique. At the same time she was annoyed that it could make her feel like that. It ought not to have meant a thing to her, should it? She sat down on a barstool, arranging her skirt as she crossed her legs. She ordered coffee. In minutes she was into pleasant conversation with a tall Danish woman, only looking up when outbursts of glee and admiration reached her from the far corner.

Of course she had seen Alicia amongst them. Seeing her having fun was the main cause of her foul mood and envy — she was honest enough to admit that. She also was well aware that the girl always looked whenever she glanced in her direction.

Angique cursed herself for even watching, especially because her heart lurched each time she caught the girl's gaze. She cursed the treacherous blood pump thumping away in her chest. She also cursed her weakness, the sick softness at the core of what she considered her impregnable harness. She had fought for that harness; she had suffered to obtain her pride and independence. How could it all be melting away from one mere glance of a silly cunt amidst a giggling clan of bimbo buddies?

What was wrong with her?

"Sorry?" she asked after obviously missing what the woman said in her sweet lilting Scandinavian accent.

"I'd say, go over to her," the blonde suggested, chuckling. "She must be special." Angique grunted.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked.

The woman only smiled, raising her hand and ordering another Bailey's on ice.

"Anything for you, Angique?" she asked.

"Scotch, large, neat," she answered, pushing away her cold coffee.

"Oh my, that bad," the blonde grinned.

Angique decided she would no longer go to the Club. She even considered selling her shares and ending her membership. After a week she got phone calls from friends missing her. She also got a very nervous Gary who told her that no way he would be able to pay for her shares if she wanted the money now; on the contrary, he begged her to buy more. She got rather drunk with him and ended up with a larger share of stock and a glorious hangover. She also ended up deciding that a silly little fucker and her crowd of giggling idiots would not kick her out of her own Club.

So here she was again, sipping tea under her balcony, dressed in another business suit that wasn't quite a business suit, wearing heels that were not business heels and lips that had a most un-businesslike color. Her stare was fixed on a petite Arab girl with a beautiful mane of black hair and arresting eyes, dressed in a little yellow dress that went very well with the olive tan of her skin. She'd decided to watch her and never look away, even when the girl smiled back nervously — not even when she felt the heat of an unthinkable blush creep up her throat.

The waitress distracted her for a moment and when she looked back the girl was gone. Her eyes darted around in panic. Then she heard a soft voice beside her.

"I am so sorry, Angique." It was Alicia. She stood at the table, her arms straight down her sides, her eyes down.

Angique's pulse raced. She fought down an immediate response — it would have come out as a stutter. Forcing her hand not to tremble, she lifted her teacup and took a sip. Then she returned her gaze to the girl.

"Alicia, wasn't it?" she said, cursing her silly play at indifference. Alicia didn't answer.

"Now what are you sorry for, girl?" Angique went on.

There were tears on the girl's cheeks. One dangled from her jaw before falling. Angique felt like a heel.

"I led you on," the girl said with a hoarse voice. "You gave me what I begged for. Then I panicked and ran. I am sorry for that. You must hate me for it."

Yes, Angique thought, I hate you, but not for that. That part was my own stupid fault. It was what you did afterwards. You laughed and joked when I felt miserable. You told me you were sad, then turned and laughed and forgot all about me — making me feel like a fool, an insignificant fool.

She looked at Alicia, probing for the truth of the girl's misery. And she had to admit it confused her — a confusion that ate away at the foundations of her pride. So the girl hadn't been sad long enough? She had danced while Angique cried? Big deal. What claim did she have on her anyway? Look, here she is and she is sorry, she is crying, she is miserable. What more do you want? Do you want her or do you want to nurse your wounded pride? Do you want to be a righteous wreck or a happy woman?

She smiled.

"Don't be silly, honey. I don't hate you; I couldn't. Please sit with me." She pointed at the chair opposite hers. The girl sat down, her eyes on the table where her hands rested, one covering the other. They were tanned and petite. They trembled. Angique reached out and took one in hers, rubbing the fingers.

"Please look at me, Alicia," she said, the words hardly more than breathing. The brown eyes rose to catch hers.

"It is me who should apologize," Angique went on, slowly massaging the hand. "I was greedy, impatient. I lost myself in a brutal power game. I scared you away."

"Oh no!" the girl said with vehemence. "All was fine, you were sweet. I promised to be your slave. You gave me all I wanted. It was a dream. But then I was weak. I panicked and ran like a coward. I broke my promise."

What the girl said made a hundred conflicting emotions clash inside Angique's mind. Could it be that she still... ? Had she read the girl wrongly? Was it possible that... ? Could she... ? But that would... ?

The eyes of Alicia were calm, unreadable. She just sat, letting her hand be rubbed, her soul be searched.

"I love you, honey," Angique went on, amazing herself once more by her choice of words. She took the second hand and held them both. "I don't know what it means, but my mouth insists on saying it. Watch my stupid lips say I love you."

The girl's lips curled into a subtle smile. "I don't know much about love either. I have been proven wrong on the subject too often. But I know that I want you to have me. That afternoon at Villa never left my dreams, day or night. The memory scares me, but it also pulls at me. It makes me wanting to be with you, Mistress, like the girls that sucked your toes. I need to be yours."

Alicia's smile faded. By the end it was completely gone. "Shall I undress for you, Angique? Please, may I call you Mistress?"

A slight dizziness had invaded Angique's head by then. The soft words and the submissive tone spread a glow through her body. The complete openness of the girl and her perfect lack of guile took Angique by storm. It disarmed her; she could not find a trace of reserve in Alicia's demeanor.

"I am not your Mistress, honey," she whispered. Then her voice gained strength. "Not yet. We have a long, long way to go for that. Are you really serious, darling? This is no game, you know."

"I am not a player," Alicia answered. "I am a silly and frivolous girl, but not a player. What should I call you for now? I must call you something and Angique would be too ... too ... I don't know ... equal?"

Angique smiled. "Never mind, honey. You may call me Angique or anything for now — as long as it isn't Mistress; or "hon" or "sweetie" for that matter." She chuckled. Then she resumed the rubbing of the girl's hands.

"You confuse me, girl," she said.

"I am sorry for that, A — Angique. I guess I acted silly. I am a silly girl."

Angique smiled. "Let me be the judge of that," she said. "Besides, I like a pinch of silliness in a girl."

They both laughed.

"Shall I undress now?" Alicia repeated after she stopped laughing. "Will you collar me again and walk me around naked?"

"Listen, honey," Angique said. "Our little misadventure has warned me to be careful. I may decide to train you to become my slave girl, but not now. You have to understand that it will be a much harder challenge than you ever met with. You are a talented girl. As a matter of fact I seldom met someone as gifted as you. But there is one immense disadvantage, darling..."

Alicia's eyes had started sparkling at the promise of training her, but she looked alarmed at the last words.

"Disadvantage, Angique?" she whispered.

"Yes, honey. You see: I love you and that is not as it should be — not at all. A slave of course must love her Mistress unconditionally; it is a sine qua non, it goes without saying. But a Mistress loving her slave? She could never fall in love with her slave without expecting to suffer the consequences. She should care, because she is the one responsible, but she should not love her slave the way I love you. It will cloud my judgment. It will make me soft when I have to be hard. It'll make me want to hold you when I should be punishing you. In the end it might ruin your journey."

Alicia was silent for a bit. Then she said:

"May I please speak?"

"Of course you may, honey. You are a free woman. You don't need my permission." The girl slowly nodded.

"If you gave me what I need, would that be an act of love, Angique?" Angique hesitated.